One Decision
by Celestial Rainstorm
Summary: 5 is in the watchtower, looking for his beloved mentor, 2. Instead, he spies something much different through the spyglass. The newcomer is weak, unconscious, and possibly dying. 5 knows that he is this newcomer's last chance...he must make the decision whether or not to save this newcomer. No slash, re-posted, reviews are appreciated.


**Yes, this has been re-posted. People seemed to like it, so it's back. In fact, this little ficcy had a soft spot in my heart, and I thought I had lost it when my old laptop decided to die. Now I have a new one, and I was searching around for old fics I had managed to save on my thumb drive, and this was actually hidden in a series of drabbles! I was so happy to have found it. **

**Fury, this is dedicated to you. I know hard times. Feel better, m'kay (and don't kill me for the distinct lack of 8). **

**~Cel**

He blinked, unable to believe it. He furrowed his brow, staring into the Emptiness with disbelief as he withdrew from the lens of his spyglass. The city stood out before him, desolate and hauntingly silent. There was the faint whistle of the wind through crumbling buildings, howling eerily. Blinking again, he pressed his single eye back to the spyglass. Again, his sight fell upon the figure, lying sprawled in the middle of the road…alone. Unmoving. Silent.

He stared at the limp form so far below him through the spyglass for a moment. He had come up here, secretly, to see if he could find his kindly mentor, scouting alone out there in the Emptiness, and this figure was defiantly not his friend, whom left so long ago, whom he missed so very dearly. No, this was someone else. He knew that this was another of their kind, and that this newcomer was newly awakened. This was something he thought he would never see.

But he also knew that this new stitchpunk was in trouble. The newly awakened ragdoll was still motionless, lying upon their side, out in the open, unprotected, and had not moved since it had collapsed and passed out. He inhaled sharply. No one else knew about this ragdoll. He did. This ragdoll's life depended on him, or the Beast would surely find this ragdoll, and would kill it. Why had they collapsed? What was wrong with them? Finally, with one final look through the spyglass, he took a few steps back, and turned.

His pack was draped on a hook near his bulletin board. His hand hovered near it as he thought about what he was about to do.

He had not left the cathedral in years – he had lost count. He was never allowed out, and yet, he didn't want to. His kinsmen, the ones he could call his friends, were all missing from him or secluded away. And the Beast, always portrayed within the artist's drawings, snarling with razors for teeth and claws, still prowled the Emptiness. He sometimes saw it through his spyglass patrolling its territory, snarling and acting as if it was looking for something. He would not want to be caught in the path of the deadly Machine.

And then there was his leader. If he would have caught him, then all hell would be let loose upon him, and he wouldn't be able to get up after his bodyguard would finish punishing him.

But…the other ragdoll's life was in danger. Maybe, this very minute, the life in the stitchpunk was slowly draining away, leaving it dying. Leaving it full of pain and slipping slowly away. Perhaps this life depended on this one decision. Perhaps if he braved it, just this once, and went to the ragdoll, he would save the life.

The male ragdoll blinked once, furrowed his brow, and slung his pack over his shoulder, grabbing his crossbow on the way to the elevator…

He rounded the corner, pressing his back to the stone pillar. He had made it from the cathedral and into the Emptiness without once being spotted. The chilled air whipped at him as the winds danced and raced through the city. He blinked, looking around the corner to the Emptiness, reassured that the coast, for now, was all clear. Tightening his grip on the handle of his crossbow, he inched his way around the corner and walked, very slowly, with as soft as steps as he could, through the badlands.

He could hear nothing. Nothing at all, only the sound of the wind and the noise of his strangled breathing. But this was a good sign. The Beast was not hunting him, and he wasn't within its range.

It seemed like hours passed as he walked, alone and silent, through the Emptiness, looking for the limp form he had seen through his spyglass. What if the ragdoll had gotten up and moved on? What if he would never find it? He didn't even know if he was in the right area of the city where the ragdoll had fallen. He was becoming increasingly frightened. The Beast was sure to find him soon…and could he possibly defend himself? He was alone…all alone…

Suddenly, as he looked up the road he was walking upon, he saw something lying right in the middle. He blinked, pausing in his tracks, squinting a bit. The "something" was unmoving, but looked like a limp heap of burlap, the same material in which he was made…

He blinked, and began running up the road, eye wide. As he approached the heap, it became obvious what it was, and he halted before it, mouth agape in total disbelief.

It was a ragdoll, just like him. He could easily tell this one was a male, just as he was, another of his species. He blinked and slowly approached the ragdoll, stepping lightly around him. He was lying on his side, and he saw that his eyes were shut tightly, his lips slightly parted. Just as he had seen him collapse.

He placed his crossbow on the ground beside him as he kneeled to the side of the ragdoll. He gently placed a hand upon the side of his chest. His efforts would be in extreme vain if he had snuck out and came all this way to find that the ragdoll was dead. These thoughts were extinguished as he felt the ragdoll's chest rise and fall ever so slightly. He was alive, but just barely. He then placed the hand upon the shoulder of the ragdoll, and pulled him to his side.

He did not wake, but the reason for his collapse was obvious; his left shoulder, covered in dust from lying on his side in the road, was ripped horribly. The metal skeletal structure of his shoulder showed entirely through the rip. He looked upon the ragdoll. He had seen the jet, inked numeral upon his back, reading as the number "9". He reached up and placed a hand upon 9's chest, while tilting his head to the side a bit.

"9…what are you doing out here alone?" He wondered to himself in a low murmur. Underneath his fingers, there was a zipper, instead of buttons, and he could feel the steady heartbeat of this one newly awakened. He was still alive.

"…I've got to get you home." 5 whispered, looking at the young one's shoulder. He then looked all around, his head whipping from side to side. If this young one, 9, was injured, then it was something that had caused this injury to him…a monster.

What if it was nearby? What if it was heading towards them this very second, sniffing through hollow nostrils, ready to snap its razor sharp teeth into their burlap skin and rip them to shreds? 5 blinked, and his breath began to rattle again. His entire body began to shake…he was out here, alone, with a dying ragdoll he had never seen or met, and the Beast was out there, hunting, stalking…

5 leapt to his feet, and began to turn away. He then paused in his tracks as he heard something, something small.

9 had let out a tiny cry of pain. 5 turned to see him grimacing a bit, then his facial features relaxed and he seemed to fall back into blackness once more. 5 blinked, and sighed. The cry was like a pleading call for him to come back. Looking around hesitantly, he crept back to 9, and kneeled beside him. He knew he couldn't leave him. What in the hell was he thinking? This young one was dying, and he had the heart to just leave him to his fate? His painful death? No. No, not ever.

5 suddenly realized that if 2 was with him, he would have rebuked his son harshly for trying to leave one in need to fend for himself or die. 2 would have been hurt, upset, and very angry with 5. And 2 would be right.

"I won't leave you, I promise." 5 whispered to the ragdoll, although he knew he couldn't hear him. Stuffing his crossbow back into his pack, he slid his arms underneath 9 very carefully.

He stood, bringing 9 to his chest. The younger male whimpered and tensed a bit. 5 held him protectively, and began to walk hesitantly and very carefully through the Emptiness, keeping 9 close…

He would never know how that decision would eventually save his soul from destruction…or how 9 would become something he knew he needed…

A best friend.


End file.
